How Many Days
by wayfaringlight
Summary: She kept track of every day he was gone. He lost count the moment sleep took him. And as she utters the number to him, answering his inevitable question- "How many days?"- he feels his heart sink. [sokai, oneshot.]


It was warm, scratchy sand, the summer against his skin, a wind sweeping through his hair, her voice contrasting his. It was midday playing in the sun and it was sunset sitting on the dock. It was his hand brushing hers when they sat close together, it was his face becoming hot and her not noticing. It was receiving verbal beatings from his best friend, though they were all delivered in good fun. Undeniably, it was home, and Sora had been missing it for a long, _long_ time.

When he and Riku hit the water, he really wasn't aware of the fact at all. He was walking towards the Door to Light, the saltwater of the shadowy beach sloshing around his feet, and suddenly he felt gone. Not gone, actually- gone isn't the right word. He was there one moment and somewhere else the next, like someone pulled his conscious away from him for just a moment, just long enough for him to make his meteor impression. Not gone, but lost, perhaps. He wondered if his friend experienced the same thing, but to this day, he's never asked.

He was disoriented for a moment, still trying to gather his thoughts, still trying to collect himself as he treaded water, eyes searching for something, something, something. Anything, really, just to tell him where they were. And then it was her. It was red hair and a pink dress and pink sneakers, bright blue eyes and perfect porcelain skin. It was her waving hand, her white smile, her clear soprano voice; it was Kairi, and he knew right where they were.

That being said, he also knew where he _wasn't_, and that was right in front of her, facing her directly instead of across this ocean expanse, taking her by the hands and telling her how relieved he was without saying a word. He could hardly breathe, could hardly move. A part of him hardly wanted to. Exhaustion weighed him down like lead.

And yet, excitement drove him on and he was tripping over himself to reach her.

Riku tagged along behind him, but he'd barely noticed. He felt his heart about to punch through his chest, literally and figuratively- his pulse was suddenly sky-high. He'd like to have blamed it on the battle with Xemnas, but he would be forced to admit that the fight ended almost twenty minutes ago. More than enough time to calm one's heart rate. No, he would have to settle for fact, and fact was that he was simply ecstatic.

He was tackled by Donald and Goofy. Needless to say he was glad to see them, too. For a few moments it was all hugs and laughs and grateful giggles, all expressed in the simple acknowledgement that _he was alive._ Their traveling companion, their key-bearing leader, their best friend was alive and smiling right in front of them. They acted like this would never happen again. Then again, after what he just endured, after the ordeal they were forced to witness, after realizing their friend didn't follow them home- he couldn't blame them. He would probably react the same.

They let go, each leaving an arm on his shoulder, and suddenly it was her. Red hair, blue eyes, patient, waiting, willing. She flashed him a smile and he wiped his eyes.

"We- we're back," he stuttered, trying to find his voice and make it work. Under normal circumstances, he would be blushing, maddeningly so at his vocal blunder, but today, in this moment, in the afternoon sun on their overwhelmingly hot island, it just wasn't in him to be embarrassed. In his hand was a familiar charm, it's yellow and pink and brown pigments melting into one another, with a face drawn at the top that he long ago realized resembled his own. She offered him her hand and her silky smooth voice corrected him, "You're home."

He took it without a thought, and oh, was this everything he missed.

* * *

It wasn't long after that when Donald, Goofy and The King were required to leave. He presumed they had duties to resume back at their castle. Besides, Donald had Daisy, and His Majesty had the Queen- they probably hadn't seen each other in a long time. Probably just as long as he went without seeing her. She walked with him, fairly close to him as well, a quiet smile reaching across her lips. She probably wouldn't admit it, but she was on cloud nine.

_No worries,_ he thought, because he was there too.

* * *

Life was fairly cut-and-dry afterwards. He didn't get much of a chance to see her or Riku, not after their extended absence from everybody's lives, not after their disappearing act. Mom was in tears the moment she laid eyes on her son because yet again, the realization was hitting that he was _alive, _alive and well and most of all, _home._

* * *

Days passed. A lot of days. Eight days, to be exact, passed without him hardly leaving home. Mom kept him on a pretty tight leash, not out of anger but out of pure hope that keeping him close would prevent the apocalypse all over again and he wouldn't have to run off with an oversized key. He'd been pretty quiet about it, too. She wondered what about it was worth the secrets, but by the look on his face, the tale of that sword was probably a better untold. And when she asked, he would pause for a moment, figuring what details were small enough to tell.

* * *

Kairi, her, the lovely _her,_ called him up the next day, on his ninth day of being home. She asked him out to a day on the play island. Just them, alone, together, on their sandy beach on a sweltering summer afternoon.

To put it simply, he wasn't objecting.

* * *

"Hey!"

He met her on their island not ten minutes later. She donned the same pink dress, the same pink shoes, the same warm smile; his heart skipped a beat when she waved at him, called for him. He returned the favor as he docked his little boat, which he was beginning to realize was a little too _little_ for comfort. It didn't matter, though. It floated, and it carried him, and as long as it got him to their island, it would do.

It was a surprise that no one else was here with them- not even Riku. He didn't mind it, though. His best friend would probably give him props for finding alone time with her, just them, alone, together. Catching up. That's what Kairi called it- and that's just what they did. Truthfully, Sora would've liked another adventure. To do something new, exciting, fun. But if she wanted a slow day, just for talking, then that was okay too.

* * *

Evening came quicker than either of them would've thought. Throughout their day together, on Sora's ninth day of being home, they talked, joked, laughed, rolled their eyes at one another. It was just like old times, he thought, and a part of him wished it could stay this way forever. Just laughs and smiles and happy-go-lucky hopes that it would be years before he had to travel again. He wishes it was the same, and so does she, because they both know how different things really are. But still, neither of them say a word about it.

Now they sat on their tree, their crooked paopu tree, each of them occasionally glancing at the yellow stars suspended at the tops of the branches. The sunset was the main captor of their attention, however, but there were a few moments where she was the one who stole his gaze, away from the sea, away from the sky. And she was just as beautiful. The light spread like honey on her skin. Every time she turned to talk to him, though, he redirected his eyes to the horizon, and he prayed she didn't know he'd been staring.

He didn't know it- he wouldn't know it- but she'd been looking too. His hair had lightened, taking on a color more reminiscent of caramel. His face had lengthened, losing the childlike curves from two years prior. Every time he turned to talk to her, she redirected her eyes to his, but maybe if he did catch her, he would know.

In spite of her nervousness when it came to this subject, she wanted him to know.

* * *

"Kairi?" His voice caught her off guard, pulling her from her reverie. She answered with a hum, "Hmm?", and blinked. When she found his face, it was troubled, contorted with both grief and curiosity. Because for Sora, he had to know the number, even though he knew he would regret asking not a second later. And who knew, maybe he owed it to her to feel regret. He was gone for a long time, and she was stuck here, forgetting her friends. That punched him in the gut.

She forgot about him.

He kept having to remind himself that it wasn't her fault, and more importantly, she remembered him _now._

And so he asks, because he has to, "How many days?"

* * *

At first, she's confused. She opens her mouth to ask him, request clarification, and then it hits her. It should've hit her sooner. How long had it been, how much time passed before he finally saw her again. Her gaze drops and she wishes she could stare into the sun, blind her even, just so she doesn't have to see his need, his desire to know. And he deserved to know. She owed him that, at least.

Her voice is quiet against the evening summer wind. She kept track of every day he was gone. He lost count the moment sleep took him. And as she utters the number to him, answering his inevitable question- "How many days?"- he feels his heart sink.

They both do.

"Four hundred thirteen."

* * *

He was right from the beginning. He regretted asking her the instant she answered.

"But it's fine," she starts, trying to sound cheerful. He can hear it, though, how disappointed she felt then, because that same hurt echoed in her words now. "You're here now, you both are."

That doesn't stop him from saying, "I'm sorry."

And he means it, with every breath, oh, he means it. He finds it hard to look in her eyes, search her face for any traces of a smile, particularly when there are none. She shakes her head, offering her words as some sort of compensation, some source of comfort. "Don't be."

For the next few moments, their words are few and far in between. To him, in these few quiet moments, it's her. It's red hair and blue eyes and satin skin and a voice from the heart. It's realizing just how alone she must've been. And to her, it's wishing, dreaming, wanting to go back and fix everything. It's hoping he didn't see too many horrors or have too many nightmares. To each of them, it's being sorry, and a little part of them knows it's being thankful they were home _now._

"Just because you tell me not to be sorry doesn't mean I'm going to quit being sorry."

She breathes a laugh, chuckles, and a smile touches her face. He grins. She faces him, rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, well, I can still try."

His face becomes a little red.

"How far is that going to get you?"

She's closer now, and her heart is getting louder. So is his. They're coming closer, even closer, even closer than before, until they're only so far apart and retreat is pointless now. They both know, and even if the other doesn't know it, neither of them really wants to stop.

So they don't, and in a second, their lips are touching. And they linger, just for a moment, because the taste is just so wonderful. Truth be told, he's waited years for this, waited so long to be able to do this. So has she. He can feel his pulse skyrocket and he wonders if she knows, but the thoughts are only after. In this moment of their kiss, their very first kiss, he isn't thinking about anything but _her._

They part. Silence follows.

He dares to break it.

"... Pretty far, apparently."

She tries to hold herself together, but it isn't two seconds before she's thrown into a fit of quiet giggles. She looks at him, trying to compose herself, and he gives a sheepish smile in meager return. But really, that's all she wants, and she knows it now. His smile, his laugh, his eyes, _him._

Four hundred thirteen days ago, she wouldn't have known that.

* * *

He'll never tell her, but he is still sorry. He will be, for the next couple of months. Or years. Probably the latter. But right now, it's home, it's her, it's him, and that's good enough for him to forgive himself, just a little.


End file.
